Warmth
by deadlyfuzzies
Summary: A short fic based off the movie 'Joan of Arc' (starring Lee Lee Sobieski).


Even now, she can still remember when she first saw him. Even when she was shoved into that dark, dirty cell that reeked of human waste and illness and froze her body to the bone, and now as they tie her hands behind her back, leading her across the frost-bitten courtyard to that looming, malevolent piece of wood.

_He had his back to her as he examined a small dagger, turning the silver blade over and over in his rough hands. He was speaking to the military advisor, paying his new guest no mind, or even seeing her. She cleared her throat softly, frowning and perplexed at this new player in the king's war._

_The man turned to look at her with cynical blue eyes hardened with years of a wicked, harsh reality and countless blood-spattered memories. A small smirk turned up the corner of his lips. _

"_Well, she certainly looks the part."_

_And what part were you, sir?_

They pin her against the hard pole, the rough wood scraping at her back through the thin robe they had given her to wear. She bites her lip, looking around, seeing nothing but mocking, jeering faces.

"_You didn't pray," she said to him after the mass._

_He halted his horse, turning to look at her, his glance quick and cold. "I never do. Why should I? I've seen plenty of prayers never granted. My faith died long ago."_

"_God watches over all of us, sir. We can't simply choose to ignore him."_

_His icy eyes pierced her with a glare. "I watch my own back. And now, I watch yours as well."_

_Yeah…you were always watching my back, weren't you?_

Her hands are bound behind her, chained to that hateful entity that seems now to have a life of its own, and the memories pour into her mind. All those times…when she had caught him watching her, his gaze always stone on the surface, but a strange warmth behind it that had grown since Orleans.

_The battle raged all around, men screaming with bloodlust or pain. She turned abruptly, her heart stopping as the English soldier leapt at her. A scream caught in her throat. _

_But the soldier's cry was cut off abruptly, as a sword was plunged through his neck, then pulled out again with a cry from the bearer, only to be embedded deep in the chest of yet another._

_She felt her stomach lurch as the second soldier's blood spewed up in a dying fount, as the mercenary pulled the blade from human flesh, and turned so that eyes of steel met her own._

_Always watching over me, huh? Like some angel of battle and death with those bitter eyes that always end meeting mine._

The hay crackles a little as it is lit. She moans in fear, and cries out in a frantic attempt to let God's presence reassure her;

"A crucifix! Let me see a crucifix level with my eyes!"

Again she searches the crowd, wanting that freezing stare to meet hers. But it wouldn't be freezing now, no, it would be hot with rage at the English, burning with the same warmth she had seen at that first battle.

_She cried out in pain as the arrow pierced her. The world spun around her, screams and voices calling her fading in and out. She had never known pain such as this, and fought to keep conscious in the midst of such agony. _

_Then she felt the arms, lifting her, carrying her…she looked up to see her friends…Bertrand, Jean…all of them carrying her to safety._

_And then suddenly he was by her side, lifting her head onto his lap and ripping off her armor to see the wound._

"_Help me sit up," she groaned._

_She was lifted, those strong arms against her back, supporting her, helping her. _

"_Break off the tip." She hissed at Jean._

_He started. "You'll bleed to death!"_

_Her head twisted round, and she looked up into that hard face, now filled with a strange concern and fear. "Break it off," she ordered again through clenched teeth._

_He stared into her eyes for a moment, and then nodded, pulling off his glove and putting it in her mouth. _

_She bit down on it, screaming into the leather as the tip was snapped off, her blood staining his bare hands, but she pushed her friends away as they tried to remove the arrow, her hand gripping it and pulling it out herself. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she moaned as the wood came free from her shoulder._

"_Help me up." _

"_You can't-!"_

_But I did anyway, didn't I? And you helped me even then._

The flames rise, catching on her dress and her feet start to blister and burn. Tears of pain and fear steam down her cheeks, her blue eyes fixed on the heavens above her.

"_Now we are both entirely alone."_

_His eyes are different now, still cold, but full of something else, now._

_Hurt? This hurt him? The ruthless mercenary who had long since forgotten the pain of killing others?_

Alone.

Her mind races back, back to the courtroom, when she had anxiously looked around the assembly in desperation for a kind word, a kind face.

And had gotten a glimpse of frozen blue, framed by a worn, scarred face.

And hurt, pure and simple burning agony, beneath the bitter winter.

_No…I was never alone. You were always there, weren't you?_

_We kept each other warm._


End file.
